A Minor Interference
by Pakmai
Summary: John is Sherlock's best friend, Mycroft wants Sherlock to experience a romantic relationship, and exploits a program to provide a partner for him . The Dollhouse . But it does not go to plan . Others want her too, now that she is unprotected . First fic written & published ! WARNINGS for mentions of drugs, sexual assault and possibly sexual scenes later .
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is the first fanfic I have ever written. And the first bit of writing I have ever published in any way. Very nervous! I would like to see what people think of this, though! I am not British, and this has not been britpicked. Also, I apologize in advance for the possibility of randomly switching tenses. It's a weakness of mine.**

**Also, I am pretty surprised I haven't seen this crossover before. I do have more chapters to publish if there's any interest, just sort of putting this out there for now.**

**EDIT: I just realized the 'summary' was totally messed up, but I have since fixed it! This is a short chapter, but is just a bit of a tease. :) Review please if you like!**

**WARNINGS: Rated M for mentions of drug abuse, brief mentions of rape, and possible scenes of a sexual nature. I haven't gotten that far yet, but just in case!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock, or Dollhouse. I am just playing in their combined sandboxes.**

- o O o -

Mycroft sighed as he returned to his office. He had seen his brother again and that never went well. And yet this time it was at a crime scene, merely wanting to know his brother was alright. But once seeing him with the indomitable Dr. John Watson, it was easy to see that he had to worry a little less. There was still the troubling matter that his little brother needed someone else who would care for him. Dr. Watson was as straight as his brother, Mycroft knew, so it was possible that he would find someone to love and leave Sherlock to his own devices.

After the scare a few years ago when Sherlock almost overdosed on heroine, Mycroft had taken a special interest in making sure that his brother didn't do something that stupid again. So he had taken to spying on him through CCTV, 'encouraging' druggies and the like not to go near him, and of course encouraging Scotland Yard to let Sherlock help with cases. Naturally, Mycroft also had the occasional case which needed his brother's touch.

He sighed, loosening his tie a little as he moved behind his desk. He was worried for his brother. He was always worried for him. Mycroft knew better than to think he could control everything to keep Sherlock safe, but that didn't make him worry any less. Not that he would let Sherlock see such a weakness. He poured himself two fingers of Scotch, sipping it lightly as he went to his desk and looked over the files there. There was one project that he was recently made aware of that may help him. This particular program had quite helped with the overrun population of criminals. Of course, none of them went into this program without their consent. Mycroft was not the monster that Sherlock sometimes made him out to be.

Perhaps in a few weeks it would be time to make further use of this program in order to introduce someone into his brother's life. Someone who would catch his brother's interest, but would not be do unsavory that the noble Dr. Watson would object to it. In fact, he was planning on doing one young woman quite a favor.

Anthea appeared as she always did when Mycroft needed something. "Sir?" She asks from the door, stepping into the room without looking up from her blackberry, having long since figured out where everything was to keep from bumping into it.

"Ah.. Anthea. Impeccable timing as always." Mycroft says in a soft tone, sitting down in his chair an leaning back. "I need you to contact someone for me.." He says, picking up a certain folder and handing it out toward her.

Anthea stops her texting and shifts her Blackberry to one hand so she can open the folder after taking it, eyebrows going up. "Sir?" She asks questioningly in curious tone, obviously confused.

Mycroft leans his head back in his chair after sipping out of his glass, letting the burn of the alcohol relax him. "Yes. Tell them that I require their services for a very special person.. that if they do not provide this service, then their operation will be completely and utterly decimated as a whole, not just in Great Britain." he says as he watches Anthea coolly.

Anthea considers and she nods. "Yes, sir." She pauses for a few moments. "Are you certain, sir? If he were to find out..."

Mycroft shakes his head. "I am not going to do anything too unsavory. Merely restore a young woman to herself... minus some memories. He will have the choice whether to accept her into his life. I cannot force something like that." He says with a light wave of his hand, a dismissive gesture.

Anthea smiles a little, fondly at her boss, and she nods quietly. "Of course, sir, forgive me." She says as she watches him.

Mycroft nods slowly, watching his faithful PA. "Once we have selected a candidate, we will have to place the appropriate paperwork an funds for her, arrange a few things. This will be a long-term project."

Anthea nods, going back to her blackberry to make notes and send some messages. "Yes, sir." She says, looking down at the tab of the folder, reading the word again, the name of the organization.. 'DOLLHOUSE'.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: And now the real story begins!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or Dollhouse, or any characters therein. I only own my OC.**

- o O o -

The world started to come back from the darkness. The first thing that I felt was that I was laying down. On something soft. Not a bed, my head was propped up on something firm. A couch maybe, a leather couch. Worn, comfortable, pillows under my neck and head so that I wouldn't get a crick in my neck. That was thoughtful of someone. I tried to remember the last few days and found it sort of difficult. I only remembered snippets. I was tied up, and then two men. One tall, pale, dark hair. He had gentle hands, long fingers, but hesitant. The other was shorter, stockier. He must have had lighter hair because I couldn't remembering distinguishing between his hair and face. Either that or he was bald. His hands were different. Less nimble, but more detached, more sure of himself. Doctor, if I had to guess. I must have been to lots of doctors, to know how to identify a Doctor's hands. It bothered me a little that I couldn't remember more in the past, but I thought that was probably the same as all my fuzzy memories.

Those two sets of hands had untied me, had helped to carry me out. Out of where? Where was I that I needed to be rescued, that I had been tied down? Had I been kidnapped? Why couldn't I remember anything? I remember I had been cold. But that was all, it hurt my head to try and remember more.

I still didn't know where I was right now, so I tried to bring back the memories of the last few days. A sickness? Maybe. I remembered sweating, shaking, begging the men to let me go. Begging for I don't know what. Puking, a hand holding my hair out of my face. The one with the longer, dexterous fingers. His voice was deep, rumbling, soothing. Why was he taking care of me? Who was he? What was he to me? Did I know him before? Before what? My mind was going around in circles.

I remember at one point, the shorter one wanted to take me away, wanted to send me to a.. facility. For what, I didn't remember or know. The taller one refused, said it would be better for me where we were. Was I in a hospital? Maybe the two were doctors. Maybe one was a doctor and the other was related to me. Boyfriend? No, I didn't think that was true. And it didn't smell like a hospital. It wasn't cold or bright, or sterile like a hospital. It smelled like tea, toast, and faint hint of smoke. It smelled.. homey.

I floated further toward consciousness, and I could hear the voice again. Deep, velvety. I think he was arguing with the other man again. They were trying to be quiet though, thinking I was still asleep.

"She's almost through it, John. We cannot dump her in a hospital when she doesn't know what's been done to her. We don't even know who she is. No family, no ID, no missing person's fitting her description." The man with the deeper voice said. So the shorter one must be called John. Good, it gave my mind something to focus on. I tried not to move, tried not to change my breathing so I could focus on the voices and try to pull my mind out of the fog it was in.

"Since when did you care so much about anyone, Sherlock? I've never seen you like this before. What is it about her? Anyone else you would have let Lestrade take care of. She's not an experiment. She needs proper care. We shouldn't mess with withdrawal like this. And when you're bored of her, we can't just toss her into the street." The one called John countered, sounding frustrated and a little annoyed. He had a pleasant enough voice, though, but more hesitant, less confident, at least right now. "I agree, it would be tough for her in a hospital until she could tell people who she was. But they have proper facilities. They would be able to take care of her better and help her with her symptoms." John insisted after a moment of silence, his voice calmer, more persuasive.

There was a rustling sound.. I couldn't tell if it was papers or clothing. "John." There was pain in his voice, Sherlock's. That's what the other one, John, had called him. I now had a name to put to that voice as well. "John, you.. know some of my past. I understand quite well how difficult withdrawal can be and the consequences of it." Wait.. withdrawal? That's the second time they mentioned it. Why would I be in withdrawal? I didn't take drugs. Although the more I thought about it, the less sure I was about that. Until I remembered, in a haze, feeling a prick in my arm, and warmth. It felt good, even if I didn't know where it was coming from.

"You should have some sympathy as well, they gave you morphine for your shoulder, didn't they? Highly addictive." Sherlock pointed out to his companion. "No doubt you went through some withdrawal symptoms yourself." His voice was a little more firm, but he tried to keep it quiet. "We are more capable of taking care of her than a hospital. You are a doctor, you're qualified. She's almost through. We cannot give up on her now."

John sighed, his voice coming out muffled for a moment. Hands over his face maybe? "Alright.. alright. She should be coming 'round soon. We'll see how she is this time, and then go from there." He said, adding, "I'll make some tea." And then there were footsteps moving away.

I kept my eyes shut during the conversation, slowly becoming more lucid but wanting to listen to what they were saying since I had missed other conversations while I was out of it. Drugged? I could hear someone moving around, running water, and then someone coming very close to the couch that I was on.

"I know you're awake. You can open your eyes now." Sherlock's voice came gently from near me, and then a cool cloth was pressed to my forehead, and my cheek, making me jump a little in surprise. Slowly, I cracked open my eyes, blinking several times to clear the fuzziness and gunk from them. When I was finally able to focus, my gaze was met by a pair of beautiful, ethereal eyes that I felt pierce through me. The eyes were set beneath a flop of curly, silky looking hair, dark brown. A very handsome face, with high cheekbones and a cupid's bow mouth. He had a slightly odd look of concern on his face as he stroked the cool cloth over my forehead, which felt rather good.

"W-where.." I had to stop as I tried to talk, coughing a little and licking my lips, feeling like I had just spat out a million cotton balls. "Where am I?" I finally managed to croak out.

"Baker Street, London." Sherlock said simply as he watched me. His face shifted from one of concern to an impassive, emotionless face, shutting everything off with obvious practice.

"How.. did I get here? What.. happened?" I asked, still having an unusually dry mouth. The other man came into the living room area, and I finally got a clear look at John. Shorter, blonde hair, just going gray a bit, definitely stockier than Sherlock, broader, holding himself with a military air. Even though Sherlock was the one with the damp cloth attending me, it seemed awkward to him, and like John was the more domestic of the two, carrying a tray with tea on it. It was more than obvious that Sherlock was not used to doing anything remotely affectionate or caring. And yet here he was, wiping my face with the damp cloth. I must have looked a mess, and from the feel of it, I had been sweating and crying, or both.

"Not sure how you like your tea, but here.." John moved over with a glass of water, seeming to be intent on helping me drink it, but Sherlock took it from him before he could get too close. Basically snatching the water from John's hands as if he didn't want the older man anywhere near me. It was odd, even though Sherlock seemed not to think anything of it, as if it were perfectly natural merely because he was the closest to me. He was also stronger than he looked, as I soon found out as he slid an arm beneath my shoulders and helped me sit up enough to drink the water. He may appear to be thin and lanky, but it seemed that was merely because he was all muscle, with no extraneous fat. I drank all of the water, feeling as weak as a baby, and just vaguely gross, like I hadn't showered in a week. I just didn't know how accurate that was.

While this was happening, John gave a perplexed look at Sherlock, then cleared his throat. "We were hoping you could shed some light on what brought you here. Well.. I mean.. technically we brought you to Baker Street, but.. I mean.. before that.. what got you.. tangled up in that situation." He seemed to bumble around for words, which seemed to exasperate Sherlock.

"During the course of investigating a criminal case we discovered a ring of kidnappers who were focusing mostly on young, attractive women. Human trafficking, clearly. We discovered a warehouse during the course of our investigation that was a holding pen as it were, for their victims. Upon arriving, we discovered you there with three other girls. However, it appeared that you had been kept drugged, quite heavily. The others had not woken up from their initial drugging as the had been kidnapped, when we arrived. It is unsure whether they would have been similarly drugged as you were, had we left them there. We were not sure how long you had been there however, or how long you had remained under the influence of those drugs. You had no identification on you, did not match any missing person's reports. John identified the drugs as mostly morphine, which would render you unconscious but is also highly addictive. We concluded that they intended to get you dependant on the Morphine and then the prospective buyers would have something to ply you with. And from the state of your clothes and hair, it was obvious that you had indeed been there long enough that your body would crave the drugs and be somewhat dependant on them." Sherlock quickly cut in to explain, his tone almost sounding bored and slightly frustrated, as if this was a great burden for him to explain.

"Since we did not know your name or any family members, I insisted that you were brought back here. Withdrawal can be such a nasty thing. I.. have some experience in this area, and John here is a doctor. Not to mention he is intimately familiar with the effects of morphine. I insisted we take care of you until you were recovered and lucid. You have been here about a week. It will take much longer to fully recover of course, but you should be back to a state where you can function properly." Sherlock said simply, avoiding looking into my eyes for a few moments as he helped me finish my water, then laid me back down. It was about all I could manage to just stare at him, taking this all in, not remembering any of it, and just taking the glass from him to finish the water, though I still needed his help to stay in the upright position.

I felt a little clearer in the head after listening to the explanation, and after I had some water to wet my mouth and loosen the knots my stomach. "My name is Sofia Charles. I... was going to go out, I think.. I can't remember if I was at a club or a restaurant.. I remember having a drink, but I.. was there alone. I was dancing with someone.. so it must have been a club.. and then, someone came up behind me, the person I was dancing with seemed to know them, and... I felt a prick in my hip, then the world went upside down.." I tried to think of anything else, sighing a little, and shaking my head. I didn't even want to think about anything else for the moment, looking between the two men. "I can't remember anything else.." I admitted softly in defeat, Sherlock slowly lowering me back down to the couch now that I had finished the water.

"That explains the clothes we found you in. You see, John, I told you she wasn't a prostitute." Sherlock scolds his friend, sitting back to pick up his tea. Obviously they had been living together for a while, John knew how Sherlock liked his tea. A part of my brain idly wondered if they were a couple.

John's ears turned pink in embarrassment. "I hope you don't mind, we took the liberty to change you into something else, your other clothes were quite a mess. If it helps, I really am a doctor, an Army doctor. Still, I'd like to get you to the hospital and have someone do some blood work and more thorough exam once you're feeling up to it. We, well, I should say I, didn't feel comfortable doing any of that while you were unconscious and.. well, not in your right mind." He said in concern. He was concerned about what might have been done to me while I was drugged, no doubt, and I was trying not to think about that, to keep myself from panicking. But I couldn't help the slight hitch in my breath as my heart suddenly started pounding.

That was the first time that I looked down at my clothes. I hadn't realized I was wearing anything different. Looking down at myself, I saw that I was wearing a long-sleeved, button-up shirt that would have been more of a dress on me, obviously a men's shirt. I looked back up at John and Sherlock, then at my shirt. Most likely Sherlock's, judging by the size. Beneath that, I had a pair of shorts, looking more to be a women's styling, but they were a touch too big on me. Odd. obviously no women lived in this flat. A friend? Sister? My legs were bare, and it was obvious I had been held captive for a while, because I knew I had shaved before going to the club, and I could tell that my legs were less than baby smooth now. "Um... ok.. I.. I can't.. even remember my address right now. In fact, I can't remember much of anything before the club, or after for that matter. My ID was in my purse.. you didn't find it?"

"No." Came the simple, succinct reply from Sherlock. John picked up his teacup and shook his head a little, in obvious agreement with his friend.

"Here... try to sit up and eat something.. You've been here nearly a week without anything to eat, and only some water to drink.. I wanted to put an IV in, but you were thrashing so much that I didn't want you to hurt yourself. I'm afraid you're going to be extremely dehydrated." John finally said, his tone and demeanor changing, putting on 'doctor' mode, it seemed. This time Sherlock didn't interrupt him as he helped me sit up, he just stiffened a little, watching the two of us like a hawk. First, John handed me another glass of water, which I drank thankfully, then he brought back a smaller glass of orange juice and a plate of toast with some butter on it, holding them out to me. I just watched the two, uncertainly nibbling on the toast, my stomach cramping hungrily which forced me to eat the toast slowly and hesitantly sipping at the orange juice.

"What happens now?" I asked nervously in between bites as I looked between the two. Both were watching me carefully as if they weren't sure if I would be able to hold down the toast and orange juice.

"Well, now that we know your name, we can find out where you live and get you back to your life." John explained casually and simply as he sat back down, obviously thinking that that was the best course of action.. Sherlock had become quite quiet, just watching me with slightly narrowed eyes, examining me. At the mention of me going back home, his lips briefly turned downward in a small frown, before his expression smoothed out. His gaze made me feel more than a little self-conscious, but at the same time, I didn't sense any malicious intent from him.

Sherlock began to speak slowly, eyes never leaving my face. "I'm sure you're eager to get back to your old life, settle back into old-"

"No!" I snapped out, panic slamming into me hard at the thought of going back to my flat. My breathing quickened and my hands started to tremble. I couldn't help it, I couldn't even explain it. I just felt fear welling up inside of me at the prospect of going 'home'. Where was 'home'? I couldn't remember now, but something about it made me deeply afraid, an animalistic fear.

Both men stared at me in surprise at my outburst, Sherlock still close enough that he quickly took the small plate and glass from me before I dropped them. It was John who looked more concerned, getting up quickly again to move over and take my hand but only to take my pulse.. "What?" He finally said, not the most intelligent of answers, but I had clearly surprised them. He pulled my legs off the couch abruptly, so I was sitting properly, then he pushed my head down between my knees. "Ok.. it's alright.. take a few deep breaths, don't hyperventilate." His hand was warm on the back of my neck, his skin a little rough.

The panic was welling up in me and I was trying my best to tamp it down, following John's directions and taking slow, deep breaths.. "I.. I.. no. Don't make me. I don't.. I can't.. Please." I knew I wasn't making much sense right then, but my vision had gone slightly blurry and the panic was rising again.

It was clear neither man was used to dealing with a panicky female, and they both seemed distinctly uncomfortable. The couch next to me dipped, and from the slacks that appeared sitting next to me, I knew that it was Sherlock that had taken the seat beside me. John's hand left the back of my neck, and cooler, long fingers pulled my hair back a bit. Sherlock's hands, obviously. They were more familiar, and I had a vague memory slip through my mind. The toilet, I was throwing up, cook hands pulled my hair out of my face an stroked my feverish skin. And then the memory was gone.

"We've got a spare room here, I'm sure you can stay until things are sorted. Isn't that right, John?" Sherlock asked as he looked over my head at the doctor who had taken a seat on the coffee table across from me. Sherlock's voice was soft, but it was cool and emotionless like before, detaching himself from the situation.

At the suggestion, the panic slowly started to subside, and I sat up a little, slowly,, enough tht I could look from John to Sherlock, the reassurance that I might not have to go back to my flt going a long way to soothe my nerves. Since John had yet t answer, I looked at him hopefuly, looking between the two.

John smiled at me, obviously worried from the slight crease in his forehead from his brows drawing together just slightly. "Of course, yeah. We'll have to move a few things around to make it habitable, but yeah, of course you can stay here." He reassured me with a little smile, patting the back of my hand gently. It was awkward, and it sounded like John wasn't completely ok with this situation, or at least he was a little worried about it.

"Now that you've finished your toast.. I'm going to go run you a bath.. You probably won't have enough strength to stand up for a shower yet.. Will you be ok washing your hair?" His cheeks and the tips of his ears flushed pink brightly again with the suggestion, then he cleared his throat. "I'll arrange for that exam and maybe see about getting you some proper clothes while you're in the bath" John offered as he watched me.

Getting cleaned up and washed suddenly sounded like a marvelous idea. "I.. I don't know. Washing my hair in a bath is.. kind of difficult.." I admitted, blushing as I thought about it, and sounding rather ashamed, dropping my eyes to the carpet.

Sherlock continued to merely watch me, while John looked sympathetic. "Do the best you can, and if you need, one of us can help you wash your hair afterward." He offered, patting my hand lightly again. "I'll go run that bath." He said before getting up and heading into the bathroom in the hall, the sound of water pretty obvious.

Sherlock stood abruptly, his posture perfect, adjusting his shirt and suit jacket before he looked down at me curiously, "Let me help you." he finally said in his deep timbered voice that sent shivers up my spine. I nodded and slowly tried to stand, but my legs were too wobbly. Sherlock easily caught me, an arm around my waist, the other supporting me under my elbow. "Easy." he said softly. After I somewhat steadied myself, we slowly worked our way to the bathroom. John was surprised obviously to see us at the doorway and he smiled tightly.

"Here, let me.. three people is two too many for this bathroom." John said jokingly, reaching out and taking my arm from Sherlock, guiding me into the bathroom and seating me on the toilet. "There's a spare toothbrush for you here, towel and wash cloth are right behind you... Tub should finish filling in a minute. If you need anything, just yell, I'll try and find you some clothes." He offered, waiting for me to nod before he stepped out and closed the door behind him.

Seeing the lock on the inside of the door, I was tempted, but then if I was really in trouble, they would have to break down the door and that wouldn't be good. I sat there for a moment before I turned to the sink and brushed my teeth thoroughly, finally turning off the tub water and shakily undressing before sliding into the tub carefully. It was a good thing I didn't attempt a shower, I was far too shaky for that.

- o O o –

**A/N: Thank you for anyone who has read this far! I do have more chapters I may publish if there is any interest. I appreciate any reviews, but please be kind! Also editing some chapters to get my 'breaks' to work right.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or Dollhouse.**

- o O o -

Sherlock returned to the living room with a small frown on his face, seeming slightly out of it. John sighed, because he knew that meant his friend was deep in thought, and John knew better than to interrupt him until he was ready to talk.

"Something has made her very afraid, but what? Clearly whatever she suffered in that warehouse has created a gap in her memory, likely suppressed. It will come back in time, and she will most likely have flashbacks, nightmares, like you do with Afghanistan." Sherlock began talking quickly, pacing back and forth along the room. "We will have to be careful. Signs of addiction. She may not even know what she's seeking, it's likely they never let her come down off the high from the drugs we found, John." He points out as he glances at his doctor. "The exam is a good idea. She did not flinch when either of us came close or touched her, which means that if she was sexually assaulted she also has no memory of that. Not surprising if she was heavily drugged. Again something that could present it at inopportune moments. We should tell Mrs. Hudson she'll be staying here, and get her to take Sofia out for some clothes shopping, and to get whatever toiletries she may require. Oh, this will be a most fascinating case. What happened to her, why was there such a fear response when we suggested finding out where she lives? Now that we have her name, we should call Lestrade, track down her apartment." Sherlock was still pacing as he rambled off at a pace that John was starting to get used to.

Sighing, John shook his head, finishing cleaning up. "Sherlock, no." he says in a firm tone, causing his friend to stop pacing. "Call Lestrade, yes. But this young woman is not a case, Sherlock. She's been obviously traumatized, she is still going through withdrawal from an obvious addiction that she had no choice in." He says in a firm tone, holding up one hand, palm down, to try and get his friend to calm himself.

Sherlock stopped. "I am not quite as insensitive as you seem to think I am, John. I have already realized everything you said, and I have no intention of upsetting her. I would not have agreed to let her stay here if I intended to merely interrogate her, I would have handed her over to Lestrade without a thought." He says in a scolding tone, before he goes over to pick up the blanket they had on the couch, putting it with the rest of their laundry.

John sighed and nodded, picking up his phone to pull in a favor with a friend at the hospital to get Sofia an appointment and have a full physical and blood tests, watching Sherlock come back to stand by the window, staring out, his second favorite 'thinking' spot.

John had barely gotten off the phone when there was a knock at the door. He was confused, but Sherlock didn't seem to be too keen on answering the door, as always, so John went to get it. It would have shocked John less to see Mycroft, Sherlock's brother, standing on the other side of the door. Instead, it was a woman that John only knew as Anthea, and who was, as far as John could tell, Mycroft's personal assistant.

"Here." Anthea said simply, looking up from her Blackberry to hold out a paper bag from some sort of shop that John didn't recognize. Probably a woman's type shop judging by the coloring of it. When John didn't immediately take it, Anthea sighed.

"Mycroft estimated your guest should be coherent soon, and obviously you don't have the things she might need. A change of clothes, and toiletries." Anthea explained, holding up the bag again.

Sherlock snorted from where he was standing looking out the window, turning just a little to glance at Anthea suspiciously, looking her over. But as always, he could glean very little information from her.

"How did he- You know what, nevermind." John was long past being overly surprised at the things that Mycroft seemed to know, like Sofia's clothing size or what she might prefer in the way of toiletries. "Thank you." he finally settled on, and took the bag from Anthea.

Once her hand was free, Anthea turned back to her Blackberry, texting almost continuously it seemed. "Mr. Holmes sends his regards." She said a bit louder so Sherlock could hear. "Goodbye." She said after a moment, turning and disappearing down the stairs.

- o O o -

The water in the bath was a bit hot, but I liked it, relaxing into it, finding the wash cloth and starting to scrub myself until my skin turned pink and my muscle ached from the sudden use. Washing my hair was going to be impossible, and I was frustrated that I would have to ask John or Sherlock for even more help. Still, for now it was nice to just sit in the hot water. I was in there for a bit before I heard a light knock on the door. It could only be John. I had the distinct impression that if he did not just barge into the room, Sherlock would knock more firmly.

"Er, Sofia? Are you alright in there? Sherlock's brother.. well, his PA, brought you some things.. change of clothes, and.. er.. other.. beauty products.. didn't really look in the bag.. bit afraid to, honestly." He admitted quietly. "Just going to put it inside the door, alright?" He asks tentatively.

"I'm fine.. just relaxing... And.. that's fine, can you tell Sherlock's brother thank you for me?" I had no idea who he was or what kind of man he was, or even how he might know my clothing size, but it was awfully nice of him to go to all that trouble.

John slowly opened the door, swinging the bag into the middle of the room, somehow without putting more than his arm into the room. "He was never here, but I'm sure you'll meet him eventually. He's very protective of Sherlock. I knew him less than 24 hours and I got... sort of abducted by him, he took me to a warehouse to interrogate me." He chuckles a little. "Looking back, it was all odd and typically big brother, but he works for the government, and.. I'll just let you get back to the bath." John was rambling, and he just realized it, quickly making sure the door was shut securely before he wandered off, not giving me a chance to respond.

I was in the bath a bit longer before I started to get out carefully, looking around and grabbing the towel to start drying myself, still unsteady on my feet. My skin itched, and I rubbed it until it was a bit pink again, before sighing in frustration. Digging around in the bag, I found a set of underwear, just my size, jeans and a t-shirt. Nothing fancy, but well made and very good materials. I dressed slowly, still feeling unsteady, and made use of the lotion in the bag, before I picked up the bag and put my borrowed clothes and put them in what was obviously the laundry basket. Finally, I emerged from the bathroom and John was sitting in his chair with the newspaper and Sherlock was in the kitchen, perched over his microscope doing.. something.

"Um.. I.. I wasn't.. able to.. wash my hair.." I felt ridiculous as I looked between the two, knowing my face showed how lost and somewhat confused that I was.

John looked up from his newspaper, surprised, and uncertain. It was obvious he wasn't really comfortable with the idea of helping me wash my hair. "Oh.. uh.. right.."

Sherlock sighed a little. "Honestly, John, with the number of girlfriends you've had, you've never washed their hair at any point? Did you not take care of any of them when they were sick?" He sounded exasperated as he looked up from his microscope, staring at John's dumbfounded expression. With another sigh, he got up, walking over to me and taking the bag from my hands, taking out the shampoo and conditioner, as well as the brush, before he motioned back toward the bathroom. "I'll do it."

I wasn't sure how to react to that, and finally settled on a small smirk as I looked between the two, then set the rest of my bag down and turning to walk slowly into the bathroom, sitting on the closed toilet seat before I fell down.

Sherlock followed, getting a new towel before he looked around, considering how best to do this, no doubt. He disappeared, coming back with a pillow and small stool, bridging the gap between the toilet and the tub. "Lay back, your head over the edge of the tub." He invited in a soft voice, placing a hand on the back of my neck gently to lower me down. The showerhead came down with a long hose, meaning that it would reach down to be a sprayer. Sherlock removed his suit jacket, and then rolled up the sleeves of his shirt before kneeling down next to me, turning the water on to get warm water.

I felt a little awkward, yet comfortable, laying back like that, glancing over at the ethereal form of Sherlock Holmes above me. "Thank you." I thought it felt inadequate, and encompassed so much more than just washing my hair.

"No need to thank me. Someone did this for me once, after I went through something similar. It's very important to feel like yourself. To feel clean, healthy." Sherlock said quietly, finally pouring the warm water over my head an scalp, long fingers working into the reddish-brown strands. I knew how my hair must look, it looked horrible if I didn't wash it at least every other day, much less how it is now.

"My skin itches.." I admitted as I looked up at him, since he said that he went through something like this before, I thought maybe he would have some advice.

"Feeling jittery, too?" Sherlock asked as he looked down on me. "Yes.. that's withdrawal.. as is nausea, tremors, weakness... Anxiety." He says as he looks at her. "Likely heightened by your experience." He says thoughtfully as he wet my hair down before he put some shampoo into his hand, and then into my hair, using two hands now to massage my scalp, which felt very good.

"Yeah.. Definitely feeling that.." I had to admit, taking a deep breath and folding my hands over my stomach to get a little more comfortable, letting my eyes slide closed as he worked his fingers through my hair. I had to admit, I always liked that feeling, someone washing my hair for me.

"It will be some time before you start to feel like yourself again." Sherlock said gently, washing off his own hands before he started to rinse the shampoo out of my hair, lifting my head to get to the back gently.

"Have you done this a lot? I mean.. washed your girlfriend's hair and stuff?" I had to ask, since it was very relaxing and he was doing a good job of it, peeking one eye open.

Sherlock just snorted. "Hardly." He said dismissively. "However, my hair takes a bit more care than the Doctor's. I do require a hair cut occasionally, it is not difficult to imitate such simple actions." he says with a note to his voice that indicates just how much of an idiot I am.

I took it in stride though, not really offended because when he put it like that, it was kind of obvious. It just seemed a surprising skill for him, or any man for that matter, to have. After the shampoo was removed, Sherlock started the process again with the conditioner, but in this he took a little more care, spreading it over my hair and then massaging my scalp again, threading his fingers through my stands of hair to make sure that he got it everywhere, coating as much of my hair as he could. I didn't have anything else to say so I just fell silent and enjoyed the feeling. Eventually, he washed my hair out again, taking the same care in making sure that the conditioner was off my skin and out of my hair.

Sherlock was having trouble focusing by the time he was working on the conditioner. He could only feel the strands going through his hands, wishing that it were dry. Anthea picked a very good scent for the shampoo, roses.. and something else that was a bit spicy and pleasant. Still, he completed his task with efficiency.

After shutting the water off, I felt Sherlock squeeze my hair out, then draped a towel over my forehead, tucking it around my hair. "Finished." He says simply, helping me to sit up, then he says, "Here is a brush that my brother's assistant included, I trust you can finish the rest." With that, he swept out of the room, leaving me staring after him and smirking. I got the feeling that all his blustering was just a front, keeping people at arm's length to protect himself.

I finally sat up enough to tend to my hair, drying it the best that I could before brushing it out, pleased that the brush was of rather good quality and went through my hair easily. Although I had to make a face at the amount of hair that came out from not having brushed my hair or washed it for so long. I also cleaned out the bath tub of any hair, making a slight face. Finally, I got up weakly and headed toward the main room.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N Thank you to anyone who has gotten this far! Sorry for the long delay in updates. I have most of this written already, I've just been exhausted from work! Please let me know if you have any ideas/suggestions!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock or any of the characters except Sofia. **

- o O o -

While Sherlock was helping to wash the hair of their new guest, John was in the sitting room, cleaning things up from the girl having been on the sofa for the last few days. They thought it would be safer so they could keep an eye on her, rather than settling her in one of the bedrooms.

It is only a minute or two after they're gone and he's finished when his mobile started to ring and he walked over to pick it up. "Hullo, Greg." He says into the phone, having recognized the number as Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade.

"Good morning, John. Hope it's not too early, but I was wondering how it's going with your patient." There was some shuffling of papers in the background, so Lestrade was obviously at Scotland Yard, probably at his desk.

"Awake, finally. Her name is Sofia Charles.. she seems to be suffering from some sort of amnesia. She remembers a bit of where she was kidnapped from, but nothing before and nothing after. It's a little worrying." John admits as he thinks about it. "She's still weak, but that's sort of to be expected. She's getting herself cleaned up at the moment." He says as he glances toward the bathroom, listening to the muted voices of Sherlock and Sofia.

"Awake? That's good, at least." Greg says in a slightly more cheerful tone. "I'll need to get her statement if you think that'd be alright. I can come 'round to get it if you like, I imagine she should take it easy for a bit yet." More papers shuffle and it seems that Greg is getting up.

"Yeah, that should be alright, I was just about to make lunch. Should be ready in about half an hour if you fancy a bite." John offered as he moved back toward the kitchen, considering what might not upset Sofia's stomach before putting his plans for lunch into motion, still on his cell phone.

"Much appreciated. I'll see you in a bit." Lestrade says before he hangs up the phone, leaving John to do the same and put his phone back down by his chair.

John chuckled a bit with a shake of his head. "I hope that I did not just make a mistake.." he mumbles to himself as he goes about making a meal that will taste good, while being bland enough for sensitive stomachs, making enough for the four of them.

- o O o –

Sherlock came down the hall first, going back to whatever experiment he was working on at the kitchen table.

"Everything go alright, then?" John asks with amusement from where he's standing at the stove. "Could you clean off the table, so we can have a proper sit down? Lestrade is coming over to ask Sofia some questions.. I'm making enough lunch for us all." He sounded quite smug, almost proud of himself.

Sherlock sighs a little, exasperated, some part of him not liking the idea of others coming to see Sofia so soon, but he pushes those thoughts away to focus on his experiment. "I will be done before lunch is." He reassures his flat mate.

"Good." John says a little stiffly, glancing at Sherlock for a moment. "And to answer your question earlier.. no, I've never had to wash my girlfriend's hair, nor a patient's."

"It's hardly rocket science." Sherlock snorts with some disdain, shaking his head for a moment before turning back to his microscope. Finally, he sighs, jotting down the rest of the information in his notebook before he goes to start clearing off the kitchen table.

- o O o –

After finishing with my hair, I feel good, a lot better than I did when I woke up. I still feel awkward, nauseous both from lack of eating and likely from my withdrawal. I take a deep breath before I head out of the bathroom. My movements are slow, stiffer than I'm used to, but my hair is lovely and soft, still damp, from whatever shampoo they had gotten me. I thought I would be ok, and that I would make it into the kitchen just fine. I was wrong. I barely got out of the hallway into the kitchen when my knees buckled, and I started to go down.

John got there first, though Sherlock was already getting up. John's arms grabbed me and caught me, keeping me upright. "Whoa.. you should be more careful, Sofia. You've had a rather exciting day, all things considered. You should rest, I'm making a bit of lunch. I'll get you some tea." He says in a professional tone as he helped me over to the couch.

Sherlock moved into the living room as well, tidying some things idly, an awkward gesture for him clearly, but he kept looking over at me. "Hm. Anthea has excellent choice in hair products, clearly. I had no idea your hair was that red, Sofia." He said in a disinterested way.

I couldn't help but smile at the two. "You boys don't need to hover over me.. Tea would be nice, and thank you for not letting me hit the floor, John." I said with a little smile, noticing two sets of eyes look at me almost indignantly when I called them 'boys', and that made me laugh a little.

John recovered first and he smirked a little as he heard me laugh. "I'm glad to see you're in a better mood now. I'll get you that cuppa." He offers as he heads back toward the kitchen.

"Really, John. I suppose next you'll say you're not her housekeeper." Sherlock says in exasperation, but that sets both of them to giggling for some reason. "You have been spending far too much time with Mrs. Hudson."

John snickers and then giggles a little, and he nods. "You're probably right."

I just feel confused, but I can't help but grin a little as I watch the two men in a more relaxed state, neither of them hovering over me thinking that I'm going to break. I shift, laying down a little on the couch, getting comfortable enough to watch the two. "Who is Mrs. Hudson?" I finally ask.

Sherlock glances at me. "Our landlady. Lives in the downstairs flat. Not our housekeeper, as she reminds us so often." he says with amusement as he watches me, then looks at John, who just snickers a little.

As if summoned by her name, Mrs. Hudson comes up the stairs a little bit later, followed by Lestrade. "Sherlock, dear, you've got a visitor.." She says as she motions to Lestrade, then she makes a small sound. "Oh, and your guest is finally awake! Oh, I was so worried, dear, the way you were carrying on..." She says with a little smile. "But I see you've got it all in hand, John, you boys take good care of this poor dear." She says the last in a more strict tone. "I'd stay but I'm off to pop to the shop, do you dears need anything?"

John shakes his head. "We'll probably be going out a while later, I'll get anything while we're out." He reassures his landlady with a little smile over at her, finishing up the lunch and starting to dish it out onto four dishes, assuming the Detective would be staying.

Mrs. Hudson smiles. "Of course.. I'm Mrs. Hudson dear, I live just downstairs. If these boys give you too much trouble, you just let me know." She said, patting my hand before she bustled out.

Lestrade nodded a little. "Sherlock, John." He greeted the two men once the elderly landlady had exited. "I'm Detective Inspector Lestrade." he says as he holds his hand out toward me.

"Sofia Charles... It's nice to meet you, Detective." I said quietly, reaching out and shaking his hand weakly.

Lestrade frowned briefly at me. "How are you feeling? John tells me you just woke up.. well.. I should say you just started to be.. coherent." He said awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head.''

I pitied him his awkwardness, and I could feel Sherlock's eyes on us, observing us although he seemed to be in a meditative pose. "Yeah.. You might as well say I just woke up today.. I don't remember much from the last few days.. or.. however long it has been. Mostly just voices.." I admitted with a little blush, glancing at Sherlock and John.

"Lunch is ready.." John called from the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. "No. No, no." He said as he saw me starting to get up. "Stay there, Sofia. We'll eat in the living room. I made you a plate, Greg. Tea for all." He brought out two plates, one for me, and clearing a spot on the desk for Greg, motioning him to it before he brings out a plate for Sherlock. "Eat." He orders in a firm tone, then he comes out with a tea set and his own food. After tea is made and passed around, he settles down to eat.

"Cheers." Greg says with a nod of his head. "Much appreciated, John, this is good." He compliments with a nod of his head after taking a bite.

Even Sherlock is eating, and I just poke at my food a bit, uncertain since my stomach is still feeling a bit queasy, but I slowly take a few bites, wondering what kind of questions will come up when the food is gone.

Silence reigned in the flat for a while as the food was eaten, the least of which was eaten by me. While the plates were cleared away by John, Lestrade turned toward me. "Thanks for that, John. Been a few days since I had a decent meal." he says before he turned to look at me. "Ms. Charles, I just need to know what you remember, anything you remember about your attackers."

I had to take a deep breath, pulling my legs up onto the couch with me, drawing in on myself a little to preserve what body warmth I had, even though the food helped. "I.. I was going out. Before. I was in a club, or a bar.. There was dancing. I was alone. I wasn't drinking. Not alcohol. I don't drink." I was trying to put my thoughts in order. Everyone's attention was on me now. "I was dancing.. and there were a lot of people.. One guy came up and started dancing with me. He seemed.. nice." I wasn't looking at the room now, I was looking inside at what few memories I had from before being drugged. "We were dancing, and this other guy came up behind me... I was enjoying myself, I didn't think anything about it. I felt a prick, near my hip, maybe my thigh. I looked at the guy behind me, he was taller.. bigger, like a bouncer. I thought maybe he pinched me, and then.. everything went dark." I sighed, curling up. "And then.. the next thing.. I just remember glimpses of things. voices, lights, everything too bright, too loud. Tried to talk, and I was slapped." My head turned to the side sharply, the memories feeling quite real to me, my hand being placed against my cheek. I didn't realize I was shaking, until just then. "There was pain, cold, hunger.." I stopped speaking as I started to hyperventilate a little, not realizing what was happening until there were two men sitting on either side of me.

John pushed my head down gently between my knees. "Sofia.. that's enough. Breathe, deep breaths for me." He said in a firm tone. Sherlock put his hand on my back, rubbing it gently as I tried to get my breath.

"I.. I'm ok." I finally said, after managing to get my breathing back under control, slowly sitting up. If it had been any other time, I would have laughed, Sherlock and John looked so concerned. Even Lestrade was standing over me looking concerned.

John's look was fierce. "That's enough questions for today, Lestrade. I think Sofia has told you everything you need to know. I need to get her to the hospital, and have her looked over."

That almost sent me into another panic attack. "H-hospital?!" I gulped as I looked nervously at John.

"Yes.." John's tone was cautious. "I don't have the right equipment here or the right.. skill set to make sure that there wasn't more serious damage done to you." He said gently as he watched me carefully, gauging my reaction.

But a strange place, a hospital, people poking and prodding at me, that was not what I wanted. "I.. I don't.. no.. I don't think I can handle that.. right now.. Isn't there anything you can do?"

John shifted awkwardly, glancing at Lestrade. Rubbing the back of his head, Lestrade cleared his throat. "I better go.. let me know if you remember anything else." He said to me, nodding before making a quick escape.

Sherlock was pondering this problem apparently, knowing that while John was a surgeon, there were certain skills he did not have, specifically concerning the female form. Without a word, he got up while John was still trying to phrase an answer, and pulled out his cell phone, hesitating before dialing.

"Mycroft." Sherlock spoke when someone picked up on the other end. "No, we're fine. Sofia needs to see a doctor, but the idea of going to hospital has made her.. uneasy." He sighed in exasperation, and while his voice was reasonable and calm during the rest of it, now he was getting frustrated. "Sofia. Yes, the woman. Don't play dumb with me, Mycroft." he snapped. "Will you send a qualified physician over or not? Yes, John is, but.. there are certain exams he is not qualified to perform." He spoke softly during the last part, as if I couldn't hear, though certainly not because he was embarrassed. I was pretty sure the man never got embarrassed.

John for his part was merely staring during this conversation. "Blimey.. " he paused, looking at my confused face, before saying. "Sherlock never calls Mycroft. The two take sibling rivalry to a whole new level."

"Then why would he do something like that for me? I'm nothing to him." I said quietly as I watched Sherlock arguing with his brother, not catching most of the conversation, but the lanky man had started to pace.

John sits back on the couch for a moment as he considers his friend. "I haven't quite figured that out yet." He admits honestly.


	5. Chapter 5

After the exam was settled, Sherlock left the flat. He had texted Lestrade that he would meet him at the station. He hadn't done his usual deducing because of the state that Sofia seemed to be in, and therefore it was all bottled up inside, everything he knew and found out from the time watching Sofia.

He took a cab to New Scotland Yard, and then walked in with his usual confidence, barely glancing at anyone else as he strode through the building, walking into Lestrade's office without so much as a knock, flopping down in one of his chairs before starting to remove his gloves.

Lestrade was tired; this case was really taking it out of him this time, "Sherlock." He greeted the madman, before leaning back and sighing. "Alright... let's have it. Sofia." He said, motioning to Sherlock to let him have it.

"Young. Mid 20's. Quiet life before now, never once for much excitement. Excellent dancer, calluses' on her feet and the way she moves means she had ballet lessons when she was younger. She took them for years, probably stopped right before university. Didn't have time for classes and lessons." Sherlock pressed his hands together in a prayer gesture, resting his chin on his thumbs, eyes unfocused. "She wasn't lying in her account. You'll probably find that she had some sort of secretarial job. Calluses on her middle and index fingers meant that she writes a lot, probably some form of PA, her hands make it obvious that she's also quite proficient in typing. No piercings or tattoos, save for the piercings in her ears. This means she was never rebellious. When we first found her, there were still traces of makeup, and of course you know that she was still wearing clothes that would have been appropriate for a club, your forensics team took them away after her initial examination." he says simply. "Speech indicates that early development was in America, but moved here when she was young, giving her enough time to adjust her speech. Therefore she has an accent and she uses British slang." He explains, considering, slouching down in the chair a little and then tilting his head back toward the ceiling. "Sedentary life now, but she keeps herself busy enough to keep in shape. No drug habits, not even smoking, the only marks on her arms are new, from whatever they gave her."

Lestrade trusted him about the drugs, after all if anyone knew about that sort of thing it would be Sherlock Holmes. He was taking notes now, thinking it might help him find Sofia's real identity. "Go on." He urged the other man, not knowing why he had held himself back before in the flat, in fact he was positively civil, but also knowing enough to know that he had to wait until the deductions were done before asking anything else, unless he wanted a lecture on his stupidity.

"I am sure it will be confirmed shortly, but I don't believe she was raped. The men who kidnapped her, they were going to sell her off at a higher price because she was.. untouched." Sherlock says the name with distaste. "She never flinches when John or I go near her, so she has no phobias of men, therefore, despite showing obvious signs of trauma, and the bruises she had when we first found her, she was not sexually assaulted. So far, so obvious." he says with a little bit of distaste, as if he was disappointed that everything was so easy. "She's become a bit agoraphobic. She objected to going to a hospital, had to get Mycroft to send a doctor to the flat..." He was more musing now than deducing, then he took a sharp, deep breath before lifting his head to look back at the DI. "However, she is also highly afraid to return to her flat. Most likely there was some threat made against her. There is more to this than a simple kidnapping. Why hold her for so long, spend the money to keep her drugged on morphine when they could have quickly sold her off to the highest bidder? She's an attractive young girl; it would have been easy money for someone in their trade." He mused the last part almost to himself as he tried to suss out the question.

"Sir?" A voice came from the door, female, the dark-haired Sally Donovan knocking on the door frame as she looked at Lestrade. "Freak." She greeted Sherlock with a sneer. "What are you doing here?" She demanded, holding a file folder in one hand that implied she might have some sort of lead.

Lestrade sighed and before Sherlock could reply, he spoke up. "Donovan, do you have something for me?" He asked, indicating the folder.

"Yeah, got a hit on your girl... Sofia Charles." Sally steps into the room and hands the folder to Lestrade. "Presumed dead. Flat burned down a few weeks ago, body fitting her body type was found, mutilated, badly burned. DI Dimmock thought it was a mob hit but there were no leads."

Sherlock snorted at that. "Idiots." he muttered as he sat up, snatching the folder from Lestrade and looking through the information. A small, lopsided smirk spread over his face and he handed the folder back to Lestrade. "Thank you, Inspector. I'll let you know when I have more information." He said as he slid on his gloves. "Sergeant Donovan." He says dismissively as he swept out of the office again and to the elevator, leaving a dumbfounded Lestrade holding the folder in hand.

-oOo-

"Your gift was well received I take it. Well done, saying it was from me, though I'm not sure if all of the things you got for her were strictly necessary." Mycroft said from where he sat behind his desk, looking at some CCTV footage while simultaneously glancing at a receipt with a slightly arched eyebrow.

Anthea smirked as she glanced up at him from her Blackberry. "With all due respect, sir, that is one of many reasons why you are still a bachelor." She says with a little chuckle, before turning her attention back to her phone.

Mycroft's eyebrows shot toward his hairline at that. It was so rare for his assistant to speak up with any sort of opinion like that, especially regarding his love life. "Mmm. Apparently so." he admits his shortcomings reluctantly as he looks back at the CCTV footage. "What do you make of it, how is our little plan going?"

Anthea hummed noncommittally. "Since you planned for them to meet at the club and not through the kidnapping, I think it's going rather better than planned. They are protective." She paused in her typing to look up at her boss. "Do you think Sherlock can help two wounded people?"

Mycroft smirked a little. "I think they will help him more than he can help them. Nothing ever goes to plan, but you're right, this is working out rather well. We shall see how long it lasts."

Anthea sighs a little. "If he finds out about your involvement it could ruin it." She cautions her boss once more.

Mycroft smirked a little. "Have a little faith, my dear. If he ever finds out, it will be far too late for him. Besides, I doubt even the great Sherlock Holmes could find what few breadcrumbs may be out there." To anyone else that might have sounded menacing but his assistant knew him better than that.

Anthea looked less than impressed; Mycroft switched the view on his CCTV camera. "And it is not as if she is not a real person. She is exactly the same as when she signed her body away." He glances at his assistant, seeing her about to object, so he gracefully holds up a hand to stop her. "Yes, we did remove her memories, but what better puzzle for my dear brother, than one that is missing pieces?" He asks with amusement, settling back in his chair.

-oOo-

**Yeah, short chapter this time, but I didn't really write this with 'chapters' in mind. I hope you all are enjoying this. If you are, please leave a review! Not sure if there's any interest in this. I guess I'll just keep posting for a while and see what happens! I'm a tad stuck at the moment, and work is hell, so my updates will likely be erratic.**

**Thank you to everyone who has read so far!**


	6. Chapter 6

Let it never be said that John Watson did not know his trade. He may have been a soldier, but he was always a doctor first. Just some things were not his area of expertise. He's not a gynecologist. He was trained as a surgeon primarily. Mycroft was surprisingly agreeable to sending a doctor over with some equipment and John was amenable to letting them use his room for the time being. It was sparse, warm, and clean. The equipment he did not recognize all of, though, and that, along with the strange silence from within the room was making him nervous. The only reason Sofia was at all comfortable with going in was that John had agreed to stay outside the door, and she could yell for him if she needed him, or felt uncomfortable in any way. But this only made the man anxious and then confused about him being anxious. He stops outside the door and sighs, rubbing his forehead. Maybe he should try and look at this like Sherlock might look at a problem.

Problem was, he didn't have enough facts. Right. No conclusions can be drawn without the proper facts. That means he would just have to wait until he had all the proper facts. He sighed, flexing his hands at his sides before he resumed his pacing with his straight, determined, military bearing.

Unfortunately that only carries him so far before he pulls out his cell phone, wondering where Sherlock has gotten off to.

Where are you? -JW

Bored? -SH

How do you know this isn't an emergency? -JW

If it was an emergency you would have called. Obviously. -SH

You didn't answer the question. -SH

Yes, I'm bloody bored, alright? You didn't answer my question either. -JW

John felt a little bit of triumph at being able to turn Sherlock's own comments against him.

Sofia's apartment. -SH

What?! Lestrade found it? -JW

John was in a state of shock, and then he felt angry at Sherlock for sneaking off without him again, causing him to jam at his cell phone's keys a little harder.

And you went there without me. -JW

Excellent observation, John. -SH

Her flat burned down. Body was found inside. Police assumed it was Sofia. Everything was lost. Signs of accelerant. Foul play, then. - SH

So she's really got nothing. Nowhere to go. Do you think someone was targeting her? -JW

Likely. This was organized. Could have been her kidnappers, they had her address and access to women of similar body size. -SH

Bloody hell. This is bigger than we thought, Sherlock. -JW

It seems so. Oh, how interesting. -SH

John could almost hear the excitement in Sherlock's text and he sighed a little, looking up at the ceiling in a silent plea for patience, glancing at his closed door as he considered it for a few moments, starting to hear quiet talking inside but not able to hear the words themselves.

What about Sofia? -JW

She'll stay with us, naturally. She'll need clothes. I nicked Mycroft's card the last time I saw him. Could see if that works. -SH

Sherlock, we cannot use Mycroft's money! -JW

Why not? -SH

Because it's not right. -JW

Fine. I'll buy them myself. -SH

John stared at that last text, frowning a little. Surely he couldn't be reading it right. Sherlock was liberal in his use of his money, he told John to take his card once. It wasn't that Sherlock wasn't a generous man. And John was convinced that his family was quite wealthy which is how he could avoid taking money for so many cases. It was just so... odd... to have Sherlock to offer to pay for something like clothes for Sofia.

Maybe we should see if Mrs. Hudson would let her stay in 221C. Would be a bit cramped in 221B with the three of us. -JW

221C is not in a habitable state, don't be an idiot. Sofia did not want to leave the flat. -SH

I noticed. Probably trauma from the kidnapping. -JW

Really, John. Stop stating the obvious. She will be more secure with us, as seen that she was so easily comforted by our presence. -SH

John thought about the morning, the way both he and Sherlock responded to Sofia's obvious distress and how she seemed to calm down with one of them closer to her. He sighed a little. Sherlock was, of course, right. For some reason she latched onto both of them as 'safe'. She wasn't comfortable with Lestrade either, and she was reluctant with the doctor who came in. The only reason she said ok was that he promised to stay outside the room. She was wary of strangers and that was understandable, given what she had just been through. He was surprised that Sherlock noticed it though. He usually wasn't that observant about people's emotional states. Except for the occasional flare of shocking insight. That was it, then. It was just one of those rare times where Sherlock saw the emotions in startling clarity.

Alright. Fine. I see your point. Coming back soon? -JW

On my way. -SH

-oOo-

I was not doing much better than John pacing outside the door. I had to have some rather intimate exams done, and I now understood why John couldn't perform them, but I don't know if I'd ever been so humiliated in my entire life. And it was uncomfortable, painful even. And the doctor was so detached, I couldn't tell if he found anything bad, he wasn't giving me anything. I submitted to the exam though; glad when he finally said that I could go.

When the door opened, John turned toward me with a small smile. "Alright?" he asks nervously as he watched me.

I was putting up a good front but felt rather humiliated at the moment. "Y-yeah..." I finally said, then added, "I'm a bit tired again, would it be ok if I laid down?" I asked hopefully.

John nodded. "Yeah, I'll show you Sherlock's room, you can sleep there for now." he said as he led me back downstairs to Sherlock's room, which was particularly sparse, and he led me over to the bed, patting my shoulder awkwardly. "Just yell if you need anything." he reassured before leaving the room.

I looked around the room, taking everything in as I sat on the edge of the bed, slowly laying down and moving to the middle of the bed. Sherlock's bed smelled different than John's, I noted, but they were both pleasant. I curled up, tears escaping my eyes as I drifted off to sleep.

-oOo-

John looked up from where he was sitting on the couch when Sherlock finally came back into the flat. The doctor had gone already and as Sherlock took a glance around the room, he focused back on John. "Is she asleep?" he guessed as he looked at his flatmate.

John nodded, "Yeah. About half an hour. She seemed kind of stressed after the doctor's visit." he said, then added, "Doctor said that he couldn't detect any long-term damage from the drugs. He took some blood samples to test for HIV and such, but that test won't be back for a while." He was focusing on the coffee table in front of the couch, relaying everything quickly, without Sherlock needing to ask. "If she had been sexually assaulted, the doctor couldn't tell. And it would have had to have been when she was first kidnapped. It wasn't repeated, if it did occur, but the doctor couldn't tell... He did say that Sofia didn't react like a rape victim when he was doing the exam. She was uncomfortable, embarrassed according to him, but reacted more strongly to the needle than the physical exam."

"Of course. She's been drugged repeatedly; she would react more subconsciously to the needle even if she wasn't consciously aware of being drugged at the time." Sherlock said simply, trying to hide his relief over the fact that Sofia was alright. Wait. Relief? Since when did he start feeling such sentiment? John is his only friend, he doesn't know anything about Sofia, and yet he cares for her. Sentiment. This is becoming annoying, and yet a part of him didn't want to push away the possibility of what this may mean.

John nodded again, getting up to make some tea, his default reaction stressful situations. Which was fine, Sherlock could use some tea. "Her flat was burned, but there was accelerant used. It was meticulous, every inch of the flat was burned, every possession destroyed beyond recovery." Sherlock said as he sat down in his chair, folding his hands in front of him in his 'thinking' pose, moving his head up and down slowly so his lips and nose brushed against the side of his index fingers. "The autopsy on the body recovered was shoddy at best. It was obviously not Sofia. I suspect someone was paid off. No proof yet. It could have been the kidnappers, her purse was never recovered, and they had her address. However, that would hint at something slightly more organized than what we originally thought. We have to keep Sofia safe."

John was bringing back the tea and he paused. "Wait - what?" he asked in surprise. "You... you're /concerned/ about Sofia's safety?" He asked in surprise. "You certainly have taken a liking to Sofia." He said with a little chuckle, handing tea to Sherlock, and then sighing when the younger man didn't take it, so he just placed it on the table next to Sherlock's chair, taking his own seat across from the detective.

Sherlock sighs, grunting in acknowledgement. "Unwanted sentiment." He grumbles, confused over it himself, then he adds, "She's stronger than other women would be in her place. She is traumatized, but she is attempting to help, she is..." He trails off, searching for the right word.

"Strong." John supplies easily, taking a sip out of his tea. "I'm not a psychiatrist, but some of her symptoms seem to be a mix between withdrawal and PTSD." he notes, the PTSD note being something he's speaking of from experience, and he knows he doesn't have to point that out for Sherlock to understand.

"Mmm." Sherlock mused, still thinking apparently, not having moved his pose yet. "It's unfortunate that she's gone through so much trauma. In better circumstances she may be the perfect match for you, John." He observed with a slight smirk.

John considered that high praise that came from Sherlock. "She's beautiful, but..." He trailed off, watching Sherlock and smirking. "She's the first person, male or female, you've shown any interest in, Sherlock. No, if the circumstances were better, I wouldn't interfere." he reassured his flatmate, smirking a little.

Sherlock snapped out of his trance-like stare, green-blue, intelligent eyes snapping over to John, brows furrowing a little as if he was trying to figure out some sort of puzzle. "What?" he nearly snapped as he focused on John.

"You heard me, Sherlock." The older man said, sitting back comfortably in his chair. "And I know how much you hate having to repeat yourself. What makes you think I like it any better?" He smirked, glad to have one over on Sherlock in that department.

Eyes were still focused on John though, deducing whether he was lying, what his intentions might be, a small frown coming over his face as he focused. This had to do with emotions, sentiment. This was not his strong point. He knew this, not that he advertised it, but surely even John knew that by now. What did John mean?

As John went about picking up his newspaper and reading, Sherlock closed his eyes finally and descended into his Mind Palace, where he could look over the events of the last two weeks. The case, finding Sofia. Sherlock didn't want to see her go to a hospital or some detox facility, which is one place he had been several times. It would have just increased her trauma to be in someplace like that. No, it was the best decision to bring her back to the flat. John was a doctor, he could easily take care of her, and he was familiar with the symptoms of withdrawal, as was Sherlock obviously. It was a hard thing to watch, the shaking, the sweating and chills, constant trips to the bathroom to dry heave. They didn't leave her alone in the flat, if one of them had to go out, the other would stay. If one of them needed to sleep, the other stayed to watch over Sofia. They became coordinated in a way that only happened during intense crime scenes. They were aware of each other and of Sofia, knowing what was needed with a glance or a motion, or a grunt. Looking back on it now, Sherlock was fascinated, not realizing that he and John could work together so well. At first, Sofia had fought them, thinking they were her captors, until she became more lucid, then she started begging and whining. She didn't even know what she was begging for, probably just for the pain to stop, most of it was incoherent. And then she woke up, and they both became more self-conscious. Sherlock was surprised to find that he was torn between distancing himself from Sofia and wanting to slip back into that easy intimacy. Is that was a relationship was like? Is that what it was supposed to be like, at least, being that close to someone that a word, a touch, could convey so much?

Still, Sherlock found that there was still a sense of intimacy. They were both protective when Lestrade was there questioning Sofia. They both went to her aid during her panic attack. He saw that John was torn between being caring and protective. His Doctor side was in the forefront certainly, making sure that Sofia was alright physically. Sherlock wasn't exactly sure how to approach Sofia. And yet in the bathroom, washing her hair, was one of the most enjoyable moments of the last few weeks. Doing something so simple for someone else, Sherlock had no idea that it could bring himself pleasure as well as helping her.

Sherlock examined this more closely, having created a room in his Mind Palace for Sofia and the feelings in relation to her. What was this? He had gotten used to feeling protective and concerned for John. He had identified those feelings as friendship. John was his best friend, of course he would want to take care of him. But he didn't know Sofia in the same way. She could still be ordinary, she could scream if she saw his experiments. She would leave, as soon as she was better, like all the others, and that would leave it to be just him and John again. So why did that leave him with such a hollow feeling in his chest? It was like looking at a triangle, and then one side suddenly going missing. It frustrated him that he couldn't figure out why he would consider her an almost completion to the dynamic he and John had. No doubt John would figure it out first. He tended to figure out the emotional side of things first.

With a small sigh, Sherlock stepped out of that room of his Mind Palace, shutting the door quietly and moving back to the case. They hadn't gotten everyone involved in the kidnapping and trafficking ring, and if they were the ones that had burned down Sofia's flat, it was an important piece they needed to know.

-oOo-

**Ok.. so I decided to post another chapter tonight, because I felt so guilty about the length of the last one. Please let me know what you think!**


	7. Chapter 7

I woke with a gasp. I didn't recognize my surroundings, I didn't know where I was, or why. It took me a few moments, and I curled up on my side during that, shivering, irrationally cold. My skin crawled and I didn't understand it.

"Sofia?" A soft baritone voice came from the doorway, follows quickly by the bed behind me dipping as someone sat on the edge. I realized my back was to the door, but I didn't move, my body still trembling a little.

"Sofia." This time the voice was softer and lighter in tone. Oh. Both of them were in the room. John had sat on the edge of the bed, and now he put a hand lightly on my shoulder, shifting a little to try and roll me onto my back or at least onto my side.

I took a trembling breath and slowly rolled over to look at the two, seeing Sherlock still lingering by the doorway. "I.. I'm sorry. I must have had a nightmare. I woke up, and I didn't know where I was." I shivered a little and curled up a little bit more.

Sherlock moved from the doorway, and I noticed at some point he had changed into pajama pants, a t-shirt and a dressing gown. I wondered what time it was when I noticed that John similarly had a t-shirt and sweatpants on. I watched as Sherlock sat down on the bed a bit further down, just below my hips, and he put a hand lightly on my leg, probably meant to be comforting.

John glances at Sherlock, then reached up and brushed some hair back from my face, then put his hand on my forehead. "It's alright. We heard some noises, and came to make sure you were ok. Your fever's gone. But you're shaking.. are you alright?" He moved his hand down to my shoulder, and then rubbed my bicep a little.

It felt nice, having these two close to me, caring for me. "Cold." I admitted, blushing and averting my eyes from the two. At least until I felt movement, and watched Sherlock silently get up, frowning, he moved over to close the window that was open a few inches, before he moved over with a soft blanket, carefully laying it over me and tucking it in around my body.

"Better?" Sherlock asked, resuming his seat and putting his hand on my leg again. I am not sure how I knew, but I knew it wasn't sexual, or at least it wasn't intended that way. It was just.. comforting. I nodded a little. "You.. you two should go back to sleep."

John chuckled. "It's not quite that late yet, only about 8." He says as he watches me, and I noticed that his hair was a little damp. Oh. He changed after his shower. That made sense.

Sherlock is watching in concern, then he says, "You should come to the sitting room, have something to drink and eat. No doubt you're still dehydrated."

John pursed his lips as he watched me, then nodded quietly. "Yes, I think that would be a good idea.. up you go." he says as he helped me sit up, and stand up. Sherlock snatched up the blanket and draped it around my shoulders gently.

I couldn't help but giggle a little, between being tired and how doting the two were being. "Not that I can remember much, but I can't remember the last time anyone cared for me like this.." The giggling stopped as abruptly as it started with a little hitch in my throat as I tried not to let sadness swallow me up and send me back into tears which I'm sure neither of them wanted to see.

John's expression turned sad and a little pinched, but he decided not to comment, merely nodding a little to me, reaching out to take my hand and give it a reassuring squeeze, silently leading me out into the living room. Sherlock followed close behind. After leaving me at the couch, John wandered into the kitchen to get food.

Sherlock took up his post, gently taking my abandoned hand. His hands were dryer, softer, and colder than John's, without the calluses. Gently, he urged me to sit down and then sat beside me, still holding my hand loosely, clearly allowing me to pull back if I was uncomfortable.

Everything was just so overwhelming I wasn't sure what to do, looking between the two with wide eyes, still shining with unspent tears.

Sherlock looked at me and he seemed to understand, if a little. "It's alright. You don't have to worry around us." He reassured me, his thumb stroking against the side of my knuckle for a moment in an oddly gentle gesture.

John paused in the doorway, watching us, having a bowl of soup and some tea, as well as a large glass of water on a tray. With a little, fond smile, he moved into the living room. "Here you are. Try to eat it all if you can, we need to get your strength back up."

Sherlock's hand left mine quickly once John started to come back into the room, and while I felt oddly bereft, I noticed that it seemed like he didn't want John to see him expressing emotion, or being strangely human. Thankfully I was at least hungry, reaching out for the soup. "Thank you.." I managed as I picked it up and ate, John sitting down on the other side from Sherlock, picking up the remote to flip through the channels on the TV. It seemed they were content to just sit there with me and let their presence be known.

The food was good, the tea was good, and I managed to finish every drop of tea, water, and soup. And then I was full. Unfortunately, something clicked through on the TV, I couldn't tell you what it was afterward, but it caused me to start trembling, fear shooting through me.

They both seemed to notice my impending panic attack at about the same time, and turned toward me, John taking my hand, and Sherlock following the example, taking my other one. "Sofia.. hey.. sof.. it's ok.. We're here, you're in Baker Street, you're safe." he reassured me as I started to get tunnel vision. It passed quickly though, and John exchanged a worried look with Sherlock.

It was Sherlock's turn this time to have sudden inspiration. "I know what might help you sleep." he said this so triumphantly that John got a worried look on his face. Still, Sherlock sprang up and disappeared, coming back with a pillow before sitting down on the far end of one couch, pillow in his lap. "Come on.. lay down.. John, move to the other end, so she can put her feet in your lap." He demanded, motioning for me to lie down and presumably use his lap as a pillow.

A blush rushed into my cheeks, and I watched him to try and figure out what his motives were. Finally realizing that he might just be innocently offering help, I shifted and slowly lay down with my head in his lap, made extremely comfortable by the pillow in his lap. I was able to put my feet up in John's lap since he moved down a bit, and he smiled encouragingly at me, arranging the blanket so that I was covered, tucking it in a bit before resting his hand on my leg gently.

Sherlock lifted one hand and rested it on my shoulder. "Now, let's watch some tellie, and do try to relax, Sofia. John has informed me that you have to sleep more to heal properly." He said in a more imperious tone, thumb stroking my shoulder idly as he stared off into space, not at the TV like John, just randomly out into the room.

It was the most comfortable I had felt all day, and I couldn't help but stretch out a little, nuzzling down into the pillow as I started to get comfortable, John chuckling lightly, smirking as he made sure my feet would stay covered with the blanket. I was full and warm, but most importantly, I felt safe and protected, and that is what made it easy to fall asleep.

-oOo-

**A/N Sorry for the short chapter, again. Updates will be slow for the next month since I'm participating in National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo), and all of my writing energies are going toward that fic. Please let me know what you think!**


	8. Chapter 8

"Sherlock, what are we doing? What made you think of this?" John asked after he noticed that Sofia had fallen asleep, smiling fondly at her.

"We are making her feel better, obviously waking up in an unfamiliar room only added to her distress. She calms when both of us are around, John. This way, she can feel both of us here and get some decent rest." Sherlock said smoothly, looking over at John as if it's child's play.

"Right. What happens when we have to go to bed, then?" John pointed out, knowing that his flat mate probably hadn't made it that far, or he just assumed they would stay on the couch all night.

"Well, my bed is big enough for the three of us, but f you were concerned about disturbing Sofia, that is why I planned on having her head in my lap, she is statistically less likely to wake up if you move her feet than if you were to move her head and shoulders. And as you know, I rarely need sleep."

John sighed a little, laughing lightly. "Right. Your bed. Of course. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad you're finally thinking about someone else other than yourself, but you can't just expect three people who are practically strangers just to share a bed, especially when they're not involved in any sort of relationship!" He hissed over at his flat mate, shaking his head a little. "People already get the wrong idea about us, Sherlock, we don't need to encourage it."

Sherlock sighed a little. "Not the 'I'm not gay' protestations again. There is a woman, albeit right now she is emotionally scared, but Sofia is most definitely female. If it makes you feel more comfortable, I could refrain from sleeping, I slept last night, I can go a few more days." He aid thoughtfully as he considered the arrangements.

John sighs a little, pinching his nose for a moment before he reaches over, putting his hand on Sherlock's arm. "Sherlock." he says in a soft, firm tone, waiting until Sherlock had turned to look at him. "You need sleep. And this isn't about my comfort or yours, do you think Sofia would be comfortable waking up in bed with two men she barely knows, after her trauma?" he points out as he looks at Sherlock, trying to make his friend understand.

Sherlock tilts his head to the side a little, considering, then to ease some of the tension he does something that always makes John smile, if only a little. "Not good?"

And it works, John relaxes a little, and he knows Sherlock understood, chuckling lightly, the corners of his lips quirking up in an almost not-there smile. "A bit not good, yeah." He said in response, one of the call-response phrases they seemed to have settled into. But this moment, this reassured John that Sherlock understood and that he was ok, that he wasn't upset.

Sherlock smiled, rather proud of himself for making John laugh, not something that he found easy, and he treasured it every time it happened. He smiles a little down at Sofia, stroking his thumb over her shoulder lightly.

"John." Sherlock noticed something and it had him concerned. "If you continue to remain in that position much longer, you are going to put unnecessary strain on your shoulder." He frowns a little, noting John's hand still on his arm, but more than that, the fact that it's his bad shoulder which causes him enough problems as it is.

"Oh. Right. Sorry." John jerked back his hand. Now he had to figure out whether Sherlock was being caring or if he merely didn't want to be touched anymore, which makes him having a slightly perplexed look on his face, pursing his lips in thought before sitting back and turning his attention back to the tellie.

It was a few hours before John spoke again, mostly because he was getting tired. "We need to wake up Sofia, and get her to bed, she won't be comfortable if she sleeps the whole night through like this, and we don't need to add to her discomfort." he notes reluctantly.

The detective didn't move for a moment, deep in thought. "If I suggested my previous idea to her, and she was amenable, would you then agree to it?" For some reason this was somewhat important to him.

The doctor pinched the bridge of his nose again, sighing. "Maybe. But she should be warned, I.. tend to be a bit of a cuddler in my sleep." The tips of his ears turned pink as his face flushes as well. Ah, that must be where some of his embarrassment comes from.

"Mmmm. Interesting." This was a slightly scary reply from the younger man, as far as John was concerned.

"No, Sherlock. Just.. no." John knew where this was going. "Please do not make me put a deadbolt, which you can't pick, onto my room. You are /not/ watching me sleep." His voice was firm and a little annoyed, willing himself not to smile as Sherlock gave him an innocent look.

-oOo-

A/N Wow, this is a really short chapter. NaNoWriMo is kicking my butt. I think I'd almost rather be writing this story actually. Let me know what you all think, I may or may not be able to finish another chapter tonight. Thank you to everyone who's read this far!


	9. Chapter 9

Warmth. Comfort. Safety. I was floating in the darkness, but I wasn't afraid. For the first time in days, I was not afraid of the dark. I could hear voices, but they didn't frighten me either, they soothed me, made me feel wanted and safe. I turned my head into the warm comfort against my cheek, sighing a little. I didn't want to wake up, I knew I was starting to though. But the warmth and the feeling of safety didn't leave. I did notice several things, the warmth of two bodies radiating toward me, a hand on my calf, fingers curling around my shin a little. There was another set of hands, on my shoulder at first, then brushing through my hair.

"Sofia?"

There was that voice again. One of them. Soft, smooth, velvety and intoxicating, like chocolate. I smiled slightly at my overly sentimental train of thought, yawning a little as I started to wake up more. I knew where I was, on the couch with Sherlock and John, but how long had I been asleep?

"Sofia."

With a groan, I rolled onto my back, opening my eyes reluctantly to look up at the mop of curly black hair and the shockingly green eyes. "Mmm?" I knew it was highly articulate and yet I couldn't make myself give any more of an answer.

"You take an inordinately long time to wake up." Sherlock sounded as if he disapproved, but I couldn't bring myself to care at the moment.

"Sherlock." A single word, a warning to be nice. That was the dear doctor, and my eyes shifted down to him with another little smile, his hands resting on my shins now, and I wiggled my toes a bit.

"I was comfortable.." I found myself saying, and sounding far too petulant for my liking. "I didn't want to wake up." I added after a moment, looking between the two for a few moments, yawning and stretching a little. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep though.. you two must want to get to bed.." I was becoming a little self-conscious, realizing how I was spread out over the two men, and blushing a little, avoiding either of their eyes now.

"Mmm. John was considering it, but I don't sleep much." Sherlock said in his usual honest manner. "However, I had a proposition, which John disapproves of, but I wished to ask you anyway." A single glance at John made it clear the older man definitely did /not/ approve of whatever Sherlock was going to ask me, but he clearly didn't want to start an argument in front of me.

"You have nightmares. So does John though he wouldn't want to admit it. I have observed that you seem to sleep more easily in John and I's presence, however." Sherlock started to lay out the facts, and I glanced at John before I turned my attention back to the man above me, eyes wandering a little to take in his curly, unkempt hair, watching his lips move as he spoke.

"My proposition is that we all share a bed. My bed, specifically, since John's is far too small to fit the three of us. I suggest nothing more than sleeping. Neither am I trying to force you into.. cuddling." Sherlock almost made that sound distasteful.

I was still sleepy enough to giggle a little, glancing at the concerned face of the doctor. "My dear Mr. Holmes.. right now? Could be considered cuddling." I noted with a shake of my head, before I looked at John. "What.. is your opinion, Doctor?" I had to ask softly.

John sighed and ran a hand through his hair, not realizing his other was still resting on my shins, naturally. "Sherlock is right, I do have nightmares, about the war. Not as much as I used to, but sharing a bed with someone familiar can help to keep them at bay. You do seem to sleep better on the couch or somewhere where you can either hear Sherlock and I in your sleep, or physically feel our presence." he squeezed my leg here, showing that yes, perhaps he did know where his hands were. "I hate to inflate his ego anymore, but Sherlock might be right. It might work, and be better for you until you're more.. secure." he said thoughtfully, then he adds, "But I tend to be a bit of a cuddler if there's someone else in bed with me, so you should be aware of that as well. And we're just suggesting sleeping, nothing more." John made sure to pound that home..

I looked between them for a few moments, glancing up at Sherlock, who looked so open, honest, and a little vulnerable. "I.. I don't know if I'm a cuddler, or if I sprawl when I sleep, or anything.." I admitted as I looked between the two. "But it.. sounds nice. I don't.. I don't like waking up alone.. It scares me, reminds me of.."I had to close my eyes, lifting my hands to put them over my face and hiding a little.

John rubbed my legs a little with his hand, soothing, while Sherlock wasn't exactly sure where was safe to touch, so he seemed to settle on stroking my hair back from my face. "It's settled, then. We'll try it tonight. Go get changed, Sofia, John and I are already dressed for bed." He said simply, tugging my hands down from my face by the wrists.

I avoided looking at either of them, carefully sitting up and then standing, stretching a little before I turned to retrieve my sleep clothes from the bag I had left them in. I heard Sherlock sigh behind me. "My room, bottom right hand drawer, there should be some shirts suitable for you to use as sleepwear until we can get you clothes." His voice was frustrated, as if he was expecting me to just go snooping around in his room looking for something to wear.

I blushed, but didn't look at them, just nodding before going to find the shirt, folding the day's clothes on a chair. Luckily because of Sherlock's tall, lanky frame, the shirt almost went down to my knees, and I was comforted, surrounding by his smell. I stepped back out into the main room slowly. "A-alright.." I began, not sure what else to say, so I turned and walked back into the bedroom, slipping into the bed in the middle, pulling the covers up so neither of them would see me. There was some activity in the main room, the clearing of dishes and the lights going out, TV going off, before the boys came into the room.

"I'll take nearest the door." John said immediately, which earned him a smile from Sherlock.

"Ever the soldier John, protecting us from potential threats." The detective teased his blogger, removing his dressing gown before he moved to the far side of the bed to slip under the covers. "Fair warning, my feet and hands tend to be a bit cold." He said to me as he got comfortable.

True to his word, the bed was big enough for the three of us, John slipping out of his robe last, seeming more uncertain than Sherlock, but he turned out the light and slipped under the covers. "I've already warned you I tend to be a bit of a cuddlebug." He said as he turned his head toward me.

I nodded to them both. "I understand." I smiled a little, not sure what else to do or which way to turn. If I faced Sherlock, I didn't want John to get the wrong idea, and wouldn't it be better if he started cuddling up to my back? No, no, I quickly realized that would make it easier for him to grab... right. No. Shifting, I turned, the warmth from both men making me sleepy as I stretched out on my stomach, turned a bit more in John's direction. "Goodnight, Sherlock.. Goodnight, John.. thank you..." I said sleepily with a little smile, rubbing my cheek against the pillow before drifting off to a stereo of 'Goodnight'.

-oOo-

A/N Oh, the fluff! So they've taken the first step… cuddles! Thanks to everyone who's made it this far, reviews are welcome! I promise, a bit more fluff, then some more plot. I sort of lost it for a few chapters, but it's coming back!


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